


The Wait

by The_Writing_Fandom_Menace



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Copperright, Emotional Hurt, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hurt No Comfort, If I keep writing for this ship I'm going to spontaneously sprout a mustache, Implied Copperright, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man, RHM wake up your husband is growing more and more depressed as this fic goes on, Reginald Needs A Hug, it's not minor at all, nevermind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 05:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30100779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Writing_Fandom_Menace/pseuds/The_Writing_Fandom_Menace
Summary: Over her years of cybernetic study, Dr. Vinschpinsilstien has witnessed a lot of different reactions to having someone find out their loved one is now a part cyborg. And she always feels pity for them.She's never seen a reaction quite like Reginald's, though.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	The Wait

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure if I should tag this for graphic description of violence or not? I mean, I describe Right's condition after his fight with Henry in like a sentence or two and it's not really all that detailed. I'm putting this warning just in case, I don't want to accidentally trigger anyone.

Dr. Vinschpinsilstien is nothing short of a genius. Over the years, her ability to perform cybernetic surgery had only improved with each patient she had, the cybernetics she installed becoming more and more advanced and technical as the years of her fervid study of robotics went on. There are a few shortcomings to such a profession, however. 

One of the worst things about cybernetic surgery is the condition you have to be in to receive it. Some of her patients have been on the brink of death when they got their augmentations, making it a race to save them in time. Others had already died, and it was up to her to do the unthinkable and bring them back. Such was the case with her current patient. 

He’d been so horribly and shockingly injured when he was brought in- wounded in battle, she was told. The sight was almost too gruesome even for her- he looked as if he’d been torn apart, with more than half of his body missing. She wondered how on earth the man who carried him into her operating room could even touch him without feeling sick.

That same man had paced outside the room the entire time she was operating, making her feel even more responsibility to bring the man he obviously loved so much back to life. And Dr. V works exceptionally well under pressure.

She should have refused to help. He’d kidnapped her, forced her into saving someone so brutally mutilated it was hard to see how he thought he could be saved at all. Yet she somehow felt pity for him. She always felt bad for her patients, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. She had a feeling that refusing to help probably wouldn’t have ended well for her, anyway- no one thinks clearly when they’re grieving. 

She’d been on the Toppat airship for a little more than two weeks now, monitoring her patient and making sure he was properly healing. She’d been allowed to roam free around the ship, but she mostly stayed in the same hallway where her patient was. She needed to be there when he woke up, to explain what was going on and fix any problems with his cybernetics- but she’d been extra careful during her operation and was hoping she wouldn’t have to do the second part. 

Every time she goes in to check on the readings she’s getting from the life support machines, she always sees the Toppat who’d brought her patient to her, sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his still human hand. Sometimes he’d cry, sometimes he’d mumble self-deprecating phrases (“I’m a coward” and “This is my fault” were probably the most common ones), or sometimes he’d just sit there. 

This always motivates her to check her data and leave the room as quickly as possible. This wasn’t anything new for her, she’d always try and give patients and their visitors plenty of alone time. You could say she does it for them, but in reality she does this for herself- she hates listening to it, she hates having to see it, as a person’s composure slips away and they become so overcome with grief that she can’t help but want to immediately leave the room. Even after her years of experience with this. 

She’s experienced some people go ballistic, screaming and crying and refusing to calm down even after her gentle reassurance. Others were the complete opposite and would sit and grieve silently, trying their hardest to hide their emotions but failing miserably. There were also the people who refused to look at or even be in the same room with their unconscious friend. Sometimes people would sit by their friend’s bedside and deny that there was anything wrong, while others sat in silent and heavy acceptance. The man sitting with her current patient fell somewhere between the last two groups. 

Dr. V had let him be, mostly, without trying to start a conversation. It was clear that all he really wanted was to sit by his right hand man’s bedside, alone, and make sure he woke up. Dr. V was perfectly fine with letting him do this. She hadn’t wanted to be in the room longer than she needed to, she didn’t need to see the way he dealt with this situation. Thankfully, he did it mostly quietly. 

He did something she’d never actually see someone try before- talking. Of course, she’d seen people scream the other person’s name in hopes of waking them up, but this man wasn’t doing that. He was just sitting there, talking quietly to his husband, as if they were engaging in a friendly conversation. It was  _ so _ clear that he knew the man-turned-cyborg couldn’t hear him, but he babbled on and on anyway, filling him in on the most trivial things going on around the airship. Sometimes Dr. V would hear him pause, as if to let the other speak, and the silence that always followed always made her want to answer him herself, just so he could have someone to talk to.

This time, however, she walked into the room to find the Toppat asleep on the mattress of the bed, with everything from his waist down hanging off the side. He had his own hat tipped over his face, holding his best friend’s hat in his hand. She decided she’d let him be. From his bloodshot eyes, frayed mustache and overall disheveledness she drew the conclusion that he hadn’t gotten this much rest in weeks. 

She turned to check on her patient, who starting to slowly blink open his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, technically one eye.


End file.
